In the span of a blink of the eye, Colin Iliad transformed into a "giant" standing four meters tall, his skin dark and knotted, each inch of flesh, every pore, and every muscle seemingly defying human sensory perception, arranged in a form unlike anything normal—carrying an unimaginable sense of impact. This was no longer something that could be described as flat or three-dimensional. Beyond length, width, and height, new dimensions emerged—measurable in information, power, and spirit—visibly manifesting as intricate patterns, symbols, and markings. Though these patterns appeared condensed and complex, the essence remained unchanged. Human observers, limited by their own sensory capabilities, only perceived a partial impression. Even so, when confronted with such beings, ordinary humans—lacking divine qualities—often experienced spiritual contamination, mental strain, and cerebral shock, sometimes collapsing instantly or going completely mad. For this reason, such beings are known in esoteric traditions as: Mythical Beings! Yet at this moment, Colin Iliad's head showed no dramatic changes, merely expanding in size, with a vertical, dark fissure opening from his forehead to his nose. A mythic being in incomplete form is not yet at Sequence 2! For强者 at this level, exhibiting such a form brings both clear advantages and distinct disadvantages—on one hand, it significantly enhances their inherent strength and stature; on the other, it comes with a strong tendency toward madness and loss of control, posing a considerable challenge to their mental composure, and proving difficult to manage unless they possess exceptionally firm wills. Therefore, most Sages only consider fully transforming into an incomplete mythic being when driven to the brink of desperation—rather than merely shifting just one part of their bodies. For them, this too is a delicate balancing act, easily leading to loss of control, and thus requiring extreme caution. Beyond the majority, there are two extremes: one composed of a small number of individuals whose desires are wildly indulged and whose maladies are intensely aggressive, and the other made up of those with exceptionally firm wills and deeply resilient spirits. The former, as soon as they manifest their mythic biological form, typically lose control and are unable to revert; the latter, however, treat their mythic form as a conventional combat tactic, remaining unshaken by the impulses toward chaos and frenzy. Of course, even this conventional use is not truly routine—it still signifies that such occurrences cannot be too frequent, as for those dwelling near the edge of the Abyss, each trial deepens the corrosion, a process that cannot be entirely avoided simply by the strength of their own resilience. Among the "Six-Party Council" of Silver City, Colyn Iliat, the chief, belongs to the latter group—those capable of mastering their mythic form as a hunter-mage. He holds two straight swords, each coated with a different ointment, and with a simple step forward, he leaps into the air, rising amidst the tremors of the earth, and plunges toward the altar’s apex, aiming at the former chief whose body is adorned with white feathers. A radiant glow burst forth from within and across the vast frame of his body, dispelling the surrounding darkness and purifying the various eerie creatures dwelling in the ethereal river behind. At the same time, Weyt Hilmon continuously drew his Dragon-Hunter's bow, launching waves of brilliant, dazzling silver lightning arrows that surged toward the former Chief, now transformed into some monstrous form. Loviea closed her eyes in anticipation, and behind her, the silver-armored knight standing over five meters tall flashed into motion, wielding a spectral greatsword, directly colliding with the altar's forecourt and splitting it open into a cascade of flowing silver crevices. Moreover, beneath the elder "shepherd's" feet, the shadow that had shrunk into a compact cluster suddenly began to move, as though coming to life. It swiftly detached itself from Loviea and swiftly surged toward the iron-black coffin at the altar's apex, moving swiftly along the darker, more somber pathways where light and shadow intertwined. Yet its target seemed not to be the transformed former chief, but rather the ethereal, slender black tubes embedded within him, stretching out toward infinity! ………… As soon as Caine returned to the real world, he heard the waves outside grow increasingly tumultuous, and the station girl's cries of fear rise one after another, without any sign of abating. He walked to the window of the room, peering through the gaps between the haphazardly constructed buildings, and saw beyond the port of Bodo: layers of leaden clouds piled high, waves rising like peaks. The black storm surged from the sea all the way into the sky, its deep silver-white lightning silently tearing through everything. It was as if the great door leading to the end of days had finally been opened. Within the port town, the void grew semi-transparent, and skeletons with open mouths, vines blooming into infant faces, blood-streaked arms, and slick, toothed appendages of strange shapes, struck against the boundary between the unreal and the real—animated, agitated, and fierce. This sent many pirates’ legs trembling, causing them to flee the streets and rush into the nearest buildings. The nearly intangible spectral figures darted back and forth, occasionally flashing into view, hovering near various targets’ ears, eager to scream, yet unable to make contact. At that moment, Bodo Harbor seemed plunged into the underworld—haunting, dark, chaotic, and frenzied. Klein’s brow furrowed slightly, gaining a vague sense of what had transpired: He had just performed his divination atop the gray mist, and in doing so, had roused the entities deep within the cold mausoleum. These entities then released their own emotions, altering the weather of the stormy sea and Bodo Harbor, creating signs that heralded the arrival of the underworld itself. "That is to say, the tomb indeed lies somewhere hidden within the turbulent sea... it's most likely the remains of the Death God from back then. Of course, this doesn't necessarily contradict the stage-product of the Spirit Monastic Order's artificial Death God initiative—indeed, the two might have merged together..." Klein withdrew his gaze, swiftly arranging the ritual and offering the Azk copper whistle as a sacrifice to the gray mist, so as to prevent it from being seized by the unknown, strangely evil entity. Once everything was done, he looked out the window at the gradually calming phenomena, and chuckled to himself: "Such a warm welcome ceremony, one might say. 'Hmm... The Spirit Monastic Order will surely notice the unusual changes in the turbulent sea. I wonder what course of action they'll take...'..." Around the altar, the earth had long since dried and cracked, scattered with white feathers streaked with a pale yellow oil. Colin Iliad, now a giant, had driven both of his straight swords into the body of the former chief, securing the decaying creature—no taller than himself—firmly to the collapsed altar. Wether Hillmon’s dragon-hunting bow had gathered a silver-white arrow pulsing with fierce energy, aimed precisely at the former chief’s head, which still hung only by fragments of flesh. The shadow separated from Loviya had smoothly reached the altar beneath the shield of the armored knight, and, seizing the moment when the other two elders were unattended, leapt suddenly, rushing toward the ethereal black tube extending infinitely from the former chief’s body. As the intangible tube drew nearer, the shadow’s hue deepened rapidly, growing dark as if embodying the most fallen and evil thoughts of the human soul. At that very instant, a deep, resonant voice echoed around the altar: “Fate.” The shadow before it dimmed instantly, then found itself pressed against the massive form of Colin Iliad. Colin looked down at it, and a pure, clear light suddenly ignited in his eyes—like the first ray of light breaking through a long night. This light grew brighter, rising upward from the tomb, spurring a more brilliant and intense glow to surge from the base of the silver city's circular tower, which responded in kind. The two lights met in the air, then turned downward, settling upon the vast body of Colin Iliad, causing the dark shadow to hiss and evaporate, gradually fading and twisting until it vanished entirely. The warrior-mage Colin glanced once at Lovira, said nothing, and showed no expression—seeming as though nothing had happened at all. He then swiftly turned his gaze, channeling the remaining radiance into the two swords that had pierced the body of the previous chief. Loviya stood there with her eyes closed, completely calm, neither startled nor afraid, and instead slowly exhaled. "City of Generosity" Bayam—Algier Wilson circled several times, finally shedding the imagined pursuers and observers, before arriving at the craftsman's house and ringing the bell. When first hearing that the craftsman had suddenly fallen ill and that strange watchers had appeared around him, Algier had immediately suspected the order of female sorceresses. Yet upon reflection, he realized that given the craftsman's tastes, he would surely be overwhelmed by the allure of beauty—there was no need for the sorceresses to complicate matters so much. A simple gesture, a display of charm, would suffice to secure everything from him. Thus, Algier believed there was another cause at play, and that he himself needed to visit personally, to ensure that the magical items were delivered without further delay and that their properties and materials were not lost or compromised unexpectedly. Among the tinkling sounds, the door of the "craftsman's" house opened, and a middle-aged man, slender in build and with skin slightly sun-browned, glanced at Aljé and asked, "How did you happen to come?" This was Charles, the "craftsman" who had collaborated with Aljé for several years—his exact background remaining unclear. "Didn't you write a letter saying you were unwell?" Aljé asked casually. Charles yawned. "I'm better now." Aljé paused, then glanced around. "Where are those odd observers you mentioned?" Charles' eyes were slightly puffy, his brown gaze reflecting a touch of fatigue and impatience. "Who knows? They haven't shown up again. Anyway, I'm moving soon—I simply don't feel safe here anymore." Aljé exhaled in relief. "That's good." He paused and added, "Would you mind if I came in and had a drink with you?" "You, a man who only values intensity, simply can't appreciate a good wine." Charles ran a hand through his linen-colored hair, stepped aside to make room. Alger entered steadily, taking in most of the scene in a single glance.